I'm home. Back to the place where my roommates don't play Celtic Women in the morning, followed by death metal. That place where 2 a.m. is a time to sleep, not bake brownies and invite friends over.
I woke up at one o'clock. PM. A full twelve hours of sleep. This may have been because my Dad listened to 1776 the entire drive home, slipping me into a time delayed coma that hit at midnight. Or maybe I finally maxed out on my sleep debt and the collectors came. With high interest rates and bats and tylenol pm.
I drove out of Cedar City yesterday around six. I could think of all the reasons why I should be sad. I could think of all the reasons why I should be excited. But really, I didn't feel much of anything. I'd said my goodbyes, breathed in the campus as I walked to my last classes, mentally memorized the neighborhood as I ran late at night to give myself a break from studying. I even teared up a little bit as I wrote about some people who I made good friendships with, who I won't see anymore. I won't miss them in the aching everyday feeling that lingers. I'll miss them when I see them again, and think about all the new memories I haven't been a part of.
But as I closed the trunk for the final time and looked around, I knew it was time to move on. I'm ready. It's very matter of fact really. My two years are over, it's time for summer, and then for transferring. Maybe it'll hit me later, maybe it already did. Either way, there are no tears. Just a soft thoughtful feeling of what I could cry about,. It's nice to know there are things I could cry about, that I experienced some really good times. I feel prepared. I learned not to fear the ladies in the front office - something that's terrified me for as long as I can remember. I asked a question during my biology final, actually raised my hand for clarification, something I've never done before because I didn't want the surrounding attention. It's a ridiculous notion, that people around me would notice I had a question and think ... well who know what I was afraid of them thinking, but I was. My worst fear came true, I planned a program for residents and no one came. And I was fine. This year I re-learned (finally) how to really study. Too many easy general ed classes can ruin even the best of habits learned from Mr. Felt. But now I remember. I remember and I'm ready to do it again, for many many classes.
I've said a lot of thank you's over the past few weeks. Thank you's, and I'll miss you's, and recognized a lot of important relationships. There's a lot more to dwell on, plenty more I learned. But right now, it's summer. I'm home and I have to mow the lawn before my dad gets back from the market. I just have one more thing to say.
Goodbye SUU.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Generic Name Boy
Dubbed so by none other than our very own Ry Guy.
My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings. Possible. Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester. Dalton and David. Same initials and everything. I swear that's a coincidence.
I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman. Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City." But I can't just yet. I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco. It didn't work out, that's the main point. But David did, for awhile.
Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy. We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions. Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello. I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.
But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me. And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on. We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date. The next time, he took me to the DI. Stop right there. Marriage? Absolutely. Done and done. He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner. RIGHT up my alley. He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally. I picked out a bib for him. And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.
We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken. I loved every minute. Six dates to hold my hand. Nine until he kissed me. Yeah I counted. For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone. He was grown up. A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard. Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk. That may have clinched it.
He had impeccable timing. When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my fears. At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps. I felt worn out and on autopilot. He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs. I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was. If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.
I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school. But I didn't love him. I wanted to. So much. I could see everything working perfectly. He was so solid, steady, and kind. But I didn't love him. After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates. I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time. So after the break, it was over. We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it. Didn't see him again for a few months. I took his blood glucose levels for my research project. Sufficiently awkward.
So it didn't work permanently. But it was a step in the right direction I think. He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him. These are not equal actions of devotion obviously. But hey, he tried his best with that song.
But it was worth it. I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.* I finally dated someone older than me. I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months. Good luck David. You were wonderful, ideal even. I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.** Thank you.
*This was a big deal. Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses. I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.
**As long as she's not prettier than me.***
***Joke.
My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings. Possible. Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester. Dalton and David. Same initials and everything. I swear that's a coincidence.
I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman. Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City." But I can't just yet. I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco. It didn't work out, that's the main point. But David did, for awhile.
Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy. We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions. Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello. I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.
But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me. And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on. We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date. The next time, he took me to the DI. Stop right there. Marriage? Absolutely. Done and done. He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner. RIGHT up my alley. He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally. I picked out a bib for him. And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.
We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken. I loved every minute. Six dates to hold my hand. Nine until he kissed me. Yeah I counted. For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone. He was grown up. A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard. Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk. That may have clinched it.
He had impeccable timing. When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my fears. At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps. I felt worn out and on autopilot. He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs. I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was. If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.
I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school. But I didn't love him. I wanted to. So much. I could see everything working perfectly. He was so solid, steady, and kind. But I didn't love him. After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates. I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time. So after the break, it was over. We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it. Didn't see him again for a few months. I took his blood glucose levels for my research project. Sufficiently awkward.
So it didn't work permanently. But it was a step in the right direction I think. He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him. These are not equal actions of devotion obviously. But hey, he tried his best with that song.
But it was worth it. I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.* I finally dated someone older than me. I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months. Good luck David. You were wonderful, ideal even. I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.** Thank you.
*This was a big deal. Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses. I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.
**As long as she's not prettier than me.***
***Joke.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Diplomatic and Adventurous
Have I ever mentioned that here at SUH* they take their Resident Assistants very seriously? Actually I know I have. They do not kid around. While some of my other friends went to their schools a day or two early for training, I left weeks early. August 2nd, a good twenty days before my first residents would arrive. I arrived and looked around at a room full of people, with no idea what to expect. From earlier classes I thought I liked most of them, but really I was clueless.
The Resident Assistants are an exuberant bunch. Very very exuberant. A roomful of them is more like a roomful of fifty energetic puppies. They have that kind of awkward air that says "I know I'm being being loud and laughing ridiculously at dumb jokes, but I take pride in this. " Think Jr. High students at their first dance, secretly feeling awkward, but acting real big to hide it. Bless their hearts. I really do enjoy them, just in small doses. Baby aspirin doses.
Not all RA's are energetic puppies, some are normal people. After all, I was one right? (ahem) Madi was in charge of the hall two above me, the lovely C300. Every month had massive programming requirements, so typically everyone teamed up with each other to plan. And we couldn't just plan a program, we also had to creatively advertise. No one would really punish you for just doing a poster, but the disdain in the eyes was apparent. Thankfully, Madi has the ability for the most creative advertising I've seen. We did an MBTI program and how the heck do you advertise for that? With massive paper brains of course. Massive brains hung all over the hall and connected with string until it looked like a ropes course. Duh.
So in my search for friend-able people, I found Madi. She never ceases to surprise me. One minute she's all soft spoken, eloquent and insightful, "You're a monkey Michael? And what kind of monkey are you? And what do monkeys eat?" And then she'll let loose with, "And what sound does a monkey make? This: OoOOooooOooOOOOOOO- AAHHA - AH AH" a perfect imitation, loud enough to call George of the Jungle's monkeys all the way back from 1997 and send them storming to her house, ready to do her bidding.
One time I had the opportunity to go on a snowshoe-ing trip for a few days. Did I have any idea how to snow-shoe? Nope. We were also supposed to sleep in a yurt. Had I ever even heard of a yurt? Hell no. Did I desperately want to go anyway? Oh yeah. But tentative as I am, I needed SOMEone to come with me. Luckily Madi was good with only twenty four hour notice for a spontaneous trip up the mountains. She took me to her house, outfitted me with snow boots, snow pants, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, basically making it possible for me to go. To the yurt we went.
It's like she has no inhibitions but at the same time is completely aware of others and diplomatic. She can go from a sincere, "Sierra you look beautiful" to the best the BEST zombie dance walk I've ever seen. Never mind it startled the boy next to her so much that he almost needed a change of pants, and caused the rest of his group to stare in astonishment and then laugh in delight.
She has a story for everything. "Did I ever tell you about the time a boy turned me down after the second date because I wouldn't convert to his religion?" "Did I ever tell you about the time I tackled a snowman to avoid a kiss?" They never get old.
And she's responsible for this fantastic quote, "Star Wars 1 through 3 are liked the desperate housewives of the galaxy."
Amen.
Madi. I will miss you. One of these summers we really will make it to visit Idalina (one of the people we met on our yurt adventure actually) and go to Floyd Fest.
Also. You have awesome hair.
(I might miss you the most)
*Not it's real name. Just how I pronounce it.
The Resident Assistants are an exuberant bunch. Very very exuberant. A roomful of them is more like a roomful of fifty energetic puppies. They have that kind of awkward air that says "I know I'm being being loud and laughing ridiculously at dumb jokes, but I take pride in this. " Think Jr. High students at their first dance, secretly feeling awkward, but acting real big to hide it. Bless their hearts. I really do enjoy them, just in small doses. Baby aspirin doses.
Not all RA's are energetic puppies, some are normal people. After all, I was one right? (ahem) Madi was in charge of the hall two above me, the lovely C300. Every month had massive programming requirements, so typically everyone teamed up with each other to plan. And we couldn't just plan a program, we also had to creatively advertise. No one would really punish you for just doing a poster, but the disdain in the eyes was apparent. Thankfully, Madi has the ability for the most creative advertising I've seen. We did an MBTI program and how the heck do you advertise for that? With massive paper brains of course. Massive brains hung all over the hall and connected with string until it looked like a ropes course. Duh.
So in my search for friend-able people, I found Madi. She never ceases to surprise me. One minute she's all soft spoken, eloquent and insightful, "You're a monkey Michael? And what kind of monkey are you? And what do monkeys eat?" And then she'll let loose with, "And what sound does a monkey make? This: OoOOooooOooOOOOOOO- AAHHA - AH AH" a perfect imitation, loud enough to call George of the Jungle's monkeys all the way back from 1997 and send them storming to her house, ready to do her bidding.
One time I had the opportunity to go on a snowshoe-ing trip for a few days. Did I have any idea how to snow-shoe? Nope. We were also supposed to sleep in a yurt. Had I ever even heard of a yurt? Hell no. Did I desperately want to go anyway? Oh yeah. But tentative as I am, I needed SOMEone to come with me. Luckily Madi was good with only twenty four hour notice for a spontaneous trip up the mountains. She took me to her house, outfitted me with snow boots, snow pants, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, basically making it possible for me to go. To the yurt we went.
It's like she has no inhibitions but at the same time is completely aware of others and diplomatic. She can go from a sincere, "Sierra you look beautiful" to the best the BEST zombie dance walk I've ever seen. Never mind it startled the boy next to her so much that he almost needed a change of pants, and caused the rest of his group to stare in astonishment and then laugh in delight.
She has a story for everything. "Did I ever tell you about the time a boy turned me down after the second date because I wouldn't convert to his religion?" "Did I ever tell you about the time I tackled a snowman to avoid a kiss?" They never get old.
And she's responsible for this fantastic quote, "Star Wars 1 through 3 are liked the desperate housewives of the galaxy."
Amen.
Madi. I will miss you. One of these summers we really will make it to visit Idalina (one of the people we met on our yurt adventure actually) and go to Floyd Fest.
Also. You have awesome hair.
(I might miss you the most)
*Not it's real name. Just how I pronounce it.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
My Muffin Top is All That
Oh Ry Guy.
What is the story of Ryan? Well I'm not exactly sure. In the same stake pretty much our whole lives. Went to the same Jr. High (I thought his name was Brian for months) and High School. And then the same college. Ryan you creep. Get your own life.
Joke.
We were always in the same friend group but it wasn't until the last few years that I actually got to know him. He looks hella intimidating.
The turning point might have been when a bunch of us planned to cook a Sunday dinner, now that we were far away from our doting, meal providing parents. Ry guy was pretty much the only other one to contribute a meal plan, cooking skill, and the thought to help clean up. I thought, "wow Ryan is like a complete person that can function on his own. Self-sufficiency. Weird." This was the dinner when I called my parents and apologized for every single time I turned up my nose at a meal or left without at least putting away my dishes. Karma has a sick sense of humor. Um.. sorry again parentals.
So we ate real food together. And a lot of junk food. We share this disease - ihateeveryoneitis - and the only treatment was withdrawing from the world inhabited by complete idiots and watching 30 Rock while ingesting large amounts of junk. Basically we were real big snots. But everyone else really was stupid so it was ok. We took many trips to the DI because few other people seemed to appreciate the beauty of already worn clothes. And then we laughed at the people who actually wore new clothes with name brands. Weirdos.
We took many* a trip to St. George to sell plasma and sometimes just to get the heck out. I followed him to the gym (where he works out obsessively) where he taught me the importance of using the shoulder machine.
"But Ryan I don't want to."
"Do it Gish. It'll make you look like Michelle Obama."
Let's see.. there's the gym, the food, the clothes, the plasma. AH. I also need to somehow incorporate the volunteering with children, the music, and the writing. Oh look. I just did. My apologies, it's just that that the little part of me, you know, the one the dictates my ability to coherently write descriptions and transitions that aren't crap took my last two finals and then curled up on the couch where I've been sleeping and died.
Sooo anyway. Ryan is a real good writer. And he tries to make his school work real good and not just slide by. Once he made me go to the park with him in the middle of the night so I could take pictures of him all dead like with syrup (blood) on his face. It was negative two degrees and he still took off his shirt for the integrity of the photo. Dedicated, this boy is. And he took these real cool pictures:
Ryan kind of does everything. I think that's the draw. He's interested in life, in everything, in learning, trying new things, going on adventures. It's the best. (This may be why he's changed his major what... four times?)
My ability to write in full sentences is continuing to slip. Ry Guy. You are fantastic. I hope you escape this tiny town one day. If not, I'll probably come visit you as an old man and remind you what a "downtown" looks like. One with more than one street.
*Many? Did say many? Mom I mean one. Really..
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